Death's Door
by Mesataki
Summary: They're trapped in a church, and they're starting to run out of things to do. All there's left is to let fear stew for a bit, and then they can get a taste of it when the reapers comes knocking.


He licked his dry lips, goosebumps popping up on his arms as he waited. _Click_. Looks to be in good order – not a hair out of place. His rudimentary examination ended when he slid the magazine back in. _Click_. His leg shook incessantly – his whole body atremble as he sat there on the pew and helplessly ran his hands over the 9mm in his hands. His mind checked every facet – and he had cleaned it earlier that day. It would not jam, and it was fully loaded. Hell was a good instructor, and survival was just as good as a motivator. He knew every bit of his gun inside and out by now, and if he didn't, his intestines would be painting the wall somewhere. Instead, it was Richard's.

He was past normalcy now. A man doesn't leave something like this and walk back unchanged – innocent. Oblivious. He remembered complaining about paperwork last week. Give him a stack tall enough to surpass Mt. Everest and he would gladly spend the rest of his life filing it. Anything over _this_, but wish as he may, there was no getting past the obvious. He was sent to make sure the civilians got out, but… he chuckled to himself. There were no civilians to save or lead to shelter. They were all dead – probably stuck between the molars of some bloody beast somewhere. In a way, he was still carrying his original mission – blowing the brains out of the fuckers that killed them. The dead don't feel a thing, but for his sake and the rest of the soldiers still alive, a dead specimen was a good specimen. Too bad there are hundreds – maybe even thousands of them.

And they seriously thought six men were enough?

Maybe… if they actually had any real ordinance. Guns were good – always satisfying to make a head pop like gore-filled water balloon, but they weren't enough. Where were the tanks? Where were the helicopters with heavy machine guns? Did the upper brass not give a shit what happened to them?

"This is bullshit," he finally said, sweat beading down his brow. "We're just waiting here to die like… like cows to the slaughter. We're just meat – waiting to be carved up into little red-ribbons and-"

"That's what's gonna happen to you, Davin," Schnieder shot back, hands tightening around his blood-splattered fire axe. "I don't know about the rest of you, but _I'm_ the butcher here. There's no way those freaks out there are going to put me out on a platter."

"Then tell me – how the hell are we going to get out? We're trapped in this fucking church – and we've welded all the exits shut. We might've cleared off a wave or a two, but there's no end to them. So long as we keep running and putting up doors, they'll always come a-knocking." He swallowed, his throat painfully dry. "We're running out of supplies. We don't have a plan except to survive. We're fucked."

"I think survivin's an excellent plan. The only way I'm going down, is wiv a big bang." Briar did a dramatic motion with his grimy fingers to emphasize his meaning. "Plenny of guts for all – and I can say I took down a good bit of 'em in hell or wherever I'm goin' after this."

"Aren't we already in hell?"

Chuckles from around the small church. Everyone turned back to their busywork – checking over the door weld over and over again, stacking pews against them for good measure, playing a card game in dim corner (despite only have forty cards), and whatever to keep their minds off of doom. Their weapons were never too far off from them – always within grabbing distance. They would be ready when the time came, and they would be fighting until the bitter, bloody end.

All there was left to do was wait on death's row.

A howl shrieked through the church. He grabbed his crossbow, backing up to the wall. The others were already taking their positions – another roar pierced their ears until a chorus of a hundred joined it. The door shuddered under their combined force, groaning with each strike. He felt his heart hitched every time the door held, but Davin already knew it wasn't going to hold for long.

A crawler dropped from a ceiling, and he reacted without thinking – popping a cap off into its skull. The head exploded like a ripe watermelon, and it spasmed on the ground for a brief moment, much like a spider under duress.

The door suddenly gave – an accelerating series of beep made itself known, and then red mist and dust comingled as they were temporarily blinded.

"Welcome to Hell on Earth. Population: six," someone joked.

Hollow laughs followed as they gunned down the first to cross into sacred ground. The night was still young.

* * *

><p>[AN]: Note to self: refrain from writing fanfiction based on horror late at night. Jumping immediately to the wiki to view their in-game models is also fuel to the nightmare. I hope you enjoyed my late-night paranoia, you sick bastards.


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